That's All Folks
by ardavenport
Summary: Johnny is on the ground. Roy crouches over him to help. All day.


**THAT'S ALL FOLKS**

by ardavenport

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><p>Johnny started to turn his head. Roy laid a hand on his arm.<p>

"Hey, keep still."

He stopped moving, lying on the bare pavement, oxygen mask over his face. He had his eyes closed. Roy looked around the parking lot, pale gray concrete with a few burned out, smoking, overturned cars and fire engines. Roy put his head down over his partner. Nobody seemed to have noticed.

A woman screamed. Without looking, Roy reached for the open first-aid kit next to Johnny's shoulder and took out the first fat wad of cotton his hand landed on. He laid it on the red stain on Johnny's chest.

Another woman screamed. Exactly two seconds later, she screamed again. Roy kept his head down and his hands busy.

About thirty feet away, bare feet slapped on the concrete. In his side vision, he saw the pair of legs of a very busty, pretty young blond woman in a torn silver jumpsuit. Johnny's eyes opened a crack and Roy gently laid one hand on his forehead to keep him from moving again.

A woman to their right screamed again.

Waiting, Roy stared down at Johnny's stained shirt, his hands smoothing the white padding over the red soaked into the blue.

"Cut!"

Roy exhaled and sat back. The voices and noises from the film crew started up again as if turned back on with a switch. The smoke machine and fan shut off. Johnny sat up, taking the mask off with a grimace. Not being a real oxygen mask, it didn't give him any air; it just covered his face. And according to Johnny, it smelled bad, like old garlic.

Roy put his hand on his partner's shoulder. "Hey, you better stay down, in case they want to go again."

Johnny brushed him off. "Oooh, they're not going again. Besides I'm tired of lying here. This ground is _hard_." He rubbed his lower back and scowled toward where the wardrobe woman had wrapped the scantily clad blond in a thick blue robe. She seemed remarkably efficient about doing her job as soon as the camera stopped rolling. There were two other buxom blonds in similar outfits, thick robes that only came off when the cameras went on, revealing their torn clothes and curvacious figures. There was also a stunt man in a blond wig that the paramedics found disturbing to look at because they had both mistaken him for a woman at first glance.

They could hear the camera crew shouting a hundred feet away. ". . . losing the light . . . " ". . . Al, get the script . . ." ". . . Make-up! . . ." The first blond in the blue robe was led away. It didn't look like they were going to start filming again anytime soon.

Johnny rubbed his sore back. "Man, if I knew being an extra in this thing was going to be like this, I might have thought twice about giving up my day off for it."

Roy nodded. "Yeah, I guess Hollywood isn't all it's cracked up to be. But it's still forty bucks." He had a wife and two kids to support. He would have taken the job anyway even if he'd known how much sitting around in the sun and doing nothing there was.

"Yeah, well, it's only forty bucks for me if they pay for this." Johnny pointed at his red-stained shirt. That morning, when they were first sorted out with the other extras, an assistant director had declared Johnny to be 'wounded on the ground'. Immediately afterwards a make-up woman had splashed him with fake blood that did not look like it would wash out. The same thing had happened to one of the guys from Station One-Sixteen. When they objected that their shirts were not studio property they were promised that a reimbursement would be included in their pay. Johnny had his doubts about that happening.

"Well, they gave us lunch. It was pretty good, too." Roy still tried to look on the positive side.

"Yeah, I guess. But really, Roy, why do they need any fire department people for this anyway? I mean, it's not like they've had us do anything that they couldn't just get anyone off the street to do."

"Well, I guess maybe some of Art's original story was still in there somewhere." Roy mentioned the writer who had visited Station Fifty-One to gather background material for a movie script about paramedics. But the story had mutated into a strange horror flick that was barely recognizable as anything related to the real world, let alone anything about being a firefighter or a paramedic. They found out that morning that Art was 'no longer involved in the project'. They had heard months ago that the LA County Fire Department was officially 'neutral' on the project, though fire department personnel were allowed to participate, if asked.

Johnny scowled toward three men in grimy suits taking a smoke break. They had ashen colored faces and shadows under their eyes.

"Yeah, well, I haven't seen it." He pointed toward the three men. "Zombies, Roy, why do they need zombies in this movie?"

He shrugged back. "I don't know. But I don't think I'm going to be seeing this flick when it comes out."

As simple extras, they were not allowed to see the script for _The Dolls That Ate The World_', and they could not tell what the story might be from what they could see. It looked like the zombies had attacked the firemen. And somehow, the buxom blonds in the torn, skimpy clothes chased them away. They were supposed to be some kind of robots Chet and Marco, along with people in street clotes and the guys from Station One-Sixteen, were supposed to be 'hiding' from the battle by one of the wrecked engines. They were at least allowed to move around.

Tired of crouching next to Johnny for so long, Roy stood and stretched. His partner climbed to his feet and did the same. Everyone else standing around in the barren, open space looked toward the argument over by the cameras. It went up and down in volume for five minutes . . . . ten . . . . twenty . . . .

Finally a harried man with wispy brown hair, an assistant director named Clive, came running around to all the groups of extras spread out over the parking-lot battlefield. He was a little out of breath by the time he got to Johnny and Roy.

"All right, we've got just enough time for one more shot, so just go over there, Pete will tell you what to do."

Not knowing who Pete was, Roy and Johnny just went to where all the other extras were. Pete turned out to be a big man in a stained yellow shirt, plaid fishing hat and glasses, but they ended up standing around for another twenty-five minutes while Pete went from director to cameraman to the guys with the big reflective mirrors they used for lighting and back to the cameraman. The make-up and wardrobe women fussed around the three blonds and two of the zombies. And the stuntman in the blond wig.

"Okay." Pete waved his hands over his head to get their attention. "You, you, you, you." He pointed at various people. "You're done for the day. Just go over there and hang tight . . . but stick around! Roberta will have your checks for you when we wrap for the day.

"All right, the rest of you back over here." He waved them all toward a fire engine lying on its side. It looked like a 1960's model with one side panel was bashed in. They had to pick up their feet to keep from tripping on the hoses snaking all over the ground around it. There was Roy and Johnny and Chet Kelly from Station Fifty-One, plus Mike Packer and Julio Alvarez from One-Sixteen. And three men and two women in torn and singed street clothes who were regular movie extras.

Two of the men and Johnny were supposed to be 'dead on the ground' this time. Roy, Chet, Mike and Julio were tasked with helping the remaining people 'escape'. Pete put them all in their positions, told them where to go and stepped back, squinting and holding his hands up to 'frame' the scene.

"Hey! . . . . Hey! Hey you!"

Johnny, sprawled out on the ground, legs spread over some hose, finally realized that he was being yelled at.

"Yeah?"

"Face away from the camera! Face away from the camera!" Pete aggressively waved his arm.

"Oh. Yeah." He turned his head away from the camera.

"All right, let's run through it. One, two, three. . . go!"

Julio and Chet hustled the man away from the general direction of the camera toward the 'safety' behind the fire engine while Mike and Roy helped the women. It felt a little uncomfortable for Roy to be 'rescuing' a woman who didn't really need to be rescued. But she didn't seem to take the physical contact personally. She was middle-aged and at lunch, she told them her name was Sarah and her husband worked for one of the studios. Her children were in high school and the money she made from the occasional job as an extra was going into their college fund.

Pete was not satisfied with the first run-through. He had them do it again. And again. And again. Then Pete conferred with a thin, dark-haired man with a clip board. They made slight changes in the timing. Chet tried a theatrical stumble and got yelled at for his trouble. They only wanted what they wanted and no more than that.

While that happened, they seemed to be running through a 'fight' between the stunt man in the blond wig and two of the zombies in front of the camera.

"Hey! Hey! Hey you!"

Johnny lifted his head and squinted back at Pete. "Huh?"

"Don't move your arms! Keep them spread out!" Pete threw his arms out wide. "You're DEAD, so look dead and don't move!"

Johnny gave him a cross look but complied. "All right." His head dropped back again.

The man with the clipboard trotted back to the camera crew and they stood around again and waited for the verdict from the director. Roy looked up at the sun. It was getting late.

"You know they might want us tomorrow. You guys've got your union cards now. You can do other films, too." Sarah gave Roy a wink. Her face was smudged, her short, graying hair teased out by the make-up woman.

"Uuh, Johnny, Chet and I have a shift tomorrow." Roy was quite glad of the excuse to bow out of this film. "And I think I'll just stick to things where they really need firemen."

She shrugged. "I've worked on films stranger than this. They just keep making more of them."

They stood around some more. Even Chet, who loved low-budget sci-fi and horror movies, seemed unimpressed with this one. But mostly he was irritated that they were not taking advantage of the fantastic firefighting talent they had assembled. Was it too much to get a little fire action from Hollywood? They had pros right there at their fingertips and it was going to waste.

Julio agreed with Chet while everyone remained neutral while they waited . . . and waited . . . the sun got a little lower. Roy winced when he saw Johnny move his leg, but Pete didn't spot it.

"Places!"

Roy put his arm around Sarah. Chet and the others got into their starting positions. The fan and the smoke started up.

"Action!"

Roy dragged Sarah along. She deliberately kept her pace out of step with his to make it look more convincing. Chet and Julio grunted because their 'wounded' man was an aspiring method actor named Tom who went completely limp and he was no lightweight.

Thirty seconds later the director yelled 'Cut!'

A few minutes later the director called for places again. They did it again. And again. And again. Roy could not see what was going on in front of the camera, they had their backs to it. But there was no yelling or screaming this time. He thought he heard some grunting. Probably the stunt man/woman and the zombies.

He did glimpse Johnny moving his leg again. Once on camera, too. But he didn't say anything about it. That was Pete's job. Roy was just ready for the day to be over.

Finally, they heard the last 'Cut!' from the director.

"All right, that's all folks! That's a wrap!"

Wearily they all trudged back toward the crew tent. Roy paused to help Johnny up. He mentioned seeing him move on camera.

Johnny waved it off. "Oh, I don't care. They're not going to see it. I just want to get out of here."

There was a line by the tent, the extras and a few others waiting for their pay. Roberta, an older woman with hair like a permed helmet and horned rim glasses, had a checklist, a book of receipts and a cash box. Kelly and Lopez got in line ahead of them and took off with a quick good-bye wave as soon as they got paid.

When their turn finally came, Roy took the money with a smile and 'thank-you' and put it in his wallet. Johnny stepped up to Roberta and put his hand to the large 'bloody' stain on his chest.

"Now, don't forget the shirt."

Roberta eyed him like a high school teacher unsatisfied with a student's attitude.

"I never forget anything, Mr. Gage." She held of the money for him. "Fifty-one dollars and ninety-five cents." She gave him exact change.

Surprised, Johnny took it. "Uh, oh. Uh, thanks." His smile broke out, but Roberta was unimpressed. She held out the pen to him and pointed at the receipt book.

"Sign here."

With money in hand and after a few more good-byes, they left, going down the street toward the lot where everyone had parked. Roy had ridden in with Johnny since his house had been on the way. And having been properly paid, Johnny had a one-hundred and eighty degree revelation about working as an extra on their days off.

"Y'know, this could really work, Roy, it could really work. We get enough days like this, we can double our yearly pay."

"Yeah? Does that include any days off?" Roy kept his eyes forward, toward the parking lot. It was already starting to clear out.

"Well, yeah there will be some days off. Of course there will. But, Roy, all we have to do is show up, stand around all day and get paid for it. It's great!"

"Yeah. If they call you. If they have a job for you on one of your days off. You're not willing to give up being a paramedic for this, are you?"

"Well, no! Who said anything about that?"

"Some of the regular extras told me that the studios only call when they want you and if you're not available too many times when they call, they stop calling." They left the sidewalk, going into the lot, keeping out of the way of the cars leaving.

"Oh, well . . . . they still might need people to be paramedics. They can't just use anyone for that."

"Don't bet on it. You've already seen how 'creative' they can be with the story. I wouldn't be surprised if this director got the bright idea to use trained gorillas to put out a fire for his next movie."

Johnny's enthusiastic pace slowed as the approached his Rover. "Yeah." He frowned. "Yeah, you gotta point there." He slid between his car and a black four-door Ford and unlocked the driver's side door while Roy waited by the passenger side for him to unlock it.

"But if you want to keep going with this, Johnny." Roy grinned as to climbed into the passenger seat and closed the door. "I'm sure there are a lot of movies out there that need dead bodies. Maybe a TV show? Maybe that cop show on Tuesday? You could be the Body of the Week."

Johnny scowled back as he pulled his car keys of of his back pocket. "Very funny. You weren't making jokes like that when you were getting paid."

Roy shrugged. "Well, if they _really_ need firemen or paramedics for extras and the department approves the project, I'm available. Otherwise, I can think of better things to do with my days off."

"Yeah, I guess."

Roy saw his partner rubbing his lower back before he put the key in the ignition and started the car.

"But, y'know, it could happen. They could need some firemen for another movie next week."

"Yeah, I guess so." Roy folded his arms before him. "But I'm not holding my breath."

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><p><strong>** - - *** - - -** END **- - - *** - - **<strong>

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><p><strong>Disclaimer:<strong> All characters belong to Mark VII Productions, Inc., Universal Studios and whoever else owns the 1970's TV show Emergency!; I am just playing in their sandbox.


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